


A Reward To Treasure

by klose



Category: The Iliad - Homer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-09
Updated: 2010-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-08 19:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klose/pseuds/klose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One is a mighty warrior, the other his dearest companion. And she's just the war prize.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Reward To Treasure

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: one instance of heavily-implied activity, mentions of death, but nothing explicit.
> 
> Written for a challenge where the prompt was a clip titled "I Like Your Girlfriend".

Another city burned, its king and princes fallen by spear of the mighty Akhilles. Yet, as always, Agamemnon took the chief share of the spoils; he who preferred to hold back and send boys to the frontlines to fight and die in his stead. This much did Akhilles say, endearing him little to Agamemnon.

"Give him the girl," said Odysseus, ever the mediator. "That one there, the daughter of Briseus."

Everyone turned to look at the girl in question, who stood cowering with the other captives. Most were covered in blood and dirt, their clothing reduced to rags. Still, Patroklos had no trouble identifying her. Her alabaster skin and golden hair were striking, even at a distance. She looked back at him -- no, not him, but Akhilles -- with wide, bright eyes. No doubt she recognised him, the man who slew her husband.

Agamemnon scowled. "The wife of that fool king? Let him have her!"

"He died with honour," said Akhilles. '_More than you might have, in your place, you doghearted lout,_' he muttered, so that only Patroklos could hear.

Nonetheless, Akhilles jerked his head in agreement with the offering, looking for all the world to be a man who was only barely pacified. But Patroklos knew him best, and most intimately: he saw the slight curve of his companion's lips, where others did not, and recognised the furrowed brow and hardened shoulders as gratification with his prize rather than contained anger. Always, Akhilles' spoils were small -- though his labours be the greatest -- but he held them dear nevertheless.

And here was a reward to treasure above all, thought Patroklos, as he moved to lead the girl away to the Myrmidons' camp. Childhood had yet to leave her, but already she was well-formed, and had the look of a girl who would one day be an amenable wife. Well. Perhaps not quite the last: she was staring now at Akhilles with a mixture of fear and resentment, of a kind that did not bode well to be routed with.

Still - she had been the wife of a King, and the Myrmidons were in want of a woman who might counsel the other serving girls, and keep their makeshift homes in order. And they were sorely in need of order, Zeus help them, for those were the obligations of a wife - but no Achaian wives were there on these shores, so far from home.

Agamemnon's man, who stood keeping an eye on the captives, shoved the girl forward, with such roughness that she stumbled. Patroklos frowned at him. Surely such handling was unnecessary. With less coarseness, he took the girl's hand, but she trembled badly beneath his grip, and began to weep.

This would not do, he thought. Akhilles did not like his girls tearful and simpering. Only moments earlier this one had met the eyes of her new master with her head held high and defiant - had Patroklos misjudged that spark of fire?

_She is young yet_, he reminded himself. _May not fear mingle with spiritedness, in one so tender?_ He must needs be kind.

"Come now, child," he murmured, pressing his lips to her ear. "Weep no further! You will be treated well - I will be sure of it."

She shook her head, but did not speak. Tears continued to stream down her cheeks, and Patroklos wiped them away.

**

Her name was Briseis. She was like a flower withered by frost - still beautiful, despite her grief, but diminished nonetheless. Patroklos understood. In a matter of days, she had lost her family and home; no longer a princess now, but a slave. To the man who had killed her husband and brothers, no less. Patroklos made sure to save a kind word and gentle smile upon his lips whenever he saw her.

Even so, he often found her weeping, and it made his heart sore. Akhilles always said Patroklos was soft, too quick and easy with his pity - but this girl, she was young and lovely, and it did not seem right. Patroklos could not bear to see her sorrow.

"What grieves you, fair daughter of Briseus?" he asked at last, taking her hands in his. Her skin was soft, a soothing balm to his war-calloused fingers. "Tell me, and I shall see it resolved."

"Dear son of Menoetius," she said, meeting his gaze with shining eyes. "Of all the captive girls, none are revered as much as I; none are treated with such goodness or kindness. And I, in turn, do not loathe my master as I should - slave that I am, and murderer of my husband that he is."

Her voice trembled, and she looked away, before continuing. "Yet slave girl still I am, where I was once the wife of a King. What is to become of me, when at last this war is over?"

"I will bring you back to Thessaly with us," said Patroklos, not needing to think on his words. "And I will see you wedded to my lord Akhilles, and I myself will arrange for you both a grand feast, one as grand as that of his parents. More so, even!"

She gave him with a watery smile. "I suppose it would be ungracious of me to say that I would not stand for it, and that I would kill him on our wedding night... as I once might have declared."

Patroklos laughed. Yes. The perfect bride for mighty, volatile Akhilles.

"Even so," continued Briseis, looking down now. "Those are grand promises you make, my lord."

_I would promise you the world, if it were in my power_, he thought.

  
**

Akhilles grew fond of his prize. Bride of his heart, he often called her, and she was easily his favourite.

_They do not liken her to Aphrodite without reason_, he would say proudly, and always Patroklos would nod in agreement, his chest tightening.

Briseis, in turn, returned Akhilles' affections, or so it seemed. Her pleasure, combined with the passage of time, only heightened her beauty. Others in the Achaian camp came to notice this - Patroklos saw their lusty looks, and met them with frowns. Most had enough sense to keep away from what rightfully belonged to Akhilles, however. After all, they were here fighting a war that was not theirs, because another man had not that sense - a war that had come about because that man had taken something that was not his to take. A war that seemed no closer to ending that it had ten years prior.

**

When Patroklos entered, Akhilles was stretched out on a pallet, his mouth biting into a bit of fruit that Briseis was feeding him. The smell of sex lingered in the air, mingled with that of smoke and perfume.

"Ah, Patroklos, my dear friend," Akhilles greeted, smiling languidly. He made a vague gesture, and Briseis rose to pour Patroklos a goblet of wine.

"I find you in good spirits, I see," said Patroklos. Hardly surprising. There had been a gap in the siege of Troy, with most of the troops still recovering and regrouping following the last failed attempted. Akhilles's own weariness of battle had dissipated, and he was itching to fight again. He was forced to release his energy in other ways, sport and hunting not withstanding.

Akhilles smirked, and let Briseis feed him another grape.

"I think we need to get you a girl of your own, Patroklos," he said, mock-thoughtfully. "You are a good girl, Briseis. Why not take care of dear Patroklos, for a short while?"

Akhilles winked at Patroklos, and Briseis approached him with a shy smile. The golden torchlight fell upon her as a halo, softening the starkness of her alabaster skin.

The world seemed to slow down before Patroklos' eyes. He could see Achilles's lips moving, but he could not hear his friend's words. All he could hear was the thundering of his heart in his chest, all he could see was Briseis drawing closer to him, her eyes shining in the firelight. So near was she, that his eyes could trace the lines of her lovely, delicate clavicles. Her lips parted, rosy and inviting, and he let her small hand curl around his calloused fingers, even as he bent his head to meet her kiss...

**

He would never admit it, of course, not even to himself. Certainly not to Akhilles, whom he loved more than he might love a brother. The war that had led him to these shores, the one that had brought him to her in the first place - it was proof that some feelings were better left unspoken and unacted upon.

**

Sometimes, Patroklos wondered if the war would ever end. How could he not? Ten years had gone by, and the fortress of Troy still held strong. All because one man had stolen another man's wife. Agamemnon had forgotten this, or chosen to ignore it, perhaps, in choosing to take Briseis as compensation for losing his own concubine. Akhilles was furious, and determined to stand apart from the fighting until the wrong was righted.

Without him, the mighty son of Peleus, the war was all but lost to the Achaians.

When Agamemnon's men arrived, it had fallen to Patroklos to collect Briseis. She was reluctant to leave.

"Mayhap this is what Helen of Troy feels, Patroklos," she said to him softly, "That she should be caught in the middle of so consequential a feud."

"Grave is the fate of the Achaians," he agreed. After a moment's hesitation, he reached for her hand.

"So I am to be taken to Agamemnon, then," Briseis asked, bowing her head. "And valiant, glorious Akhilles does naught but to watch idly as this happens."

Patroklos shook his head. "He has been stirred to wrath, and has turned from his comrades at their time of need - no, do not say that he has done naught.

"But I will tell you one thing," he continued, and here began to lead her away. "I hold fast to that promise I gave you all those months ago, when first you were given to Akhilles. Remember it, while you are away. Agamemnon will see the folly of his pride, and you will be returned."

"Like a trinket fit to be tossed about," she said, with a sad smile.

"You are more than a trinket," said Patroklos. He could think of no other words to show her the truth of this. He could say no more.

**

>   
>  _And now, in the likeness of golden Aphrodite, Briseis_  
>  _when she saw Patroklos lying torn with sharp bronze, folding_  
>  _him in her arms cried shrilly above him and with her hands tore_  
>  _at her breasts and her soft throat and her beautiful forehead._  
>  _The woman like the immortals mourning for him spoke to him:_  
>  _'Patroklos, far most pleasing to my heart in its sorrows,_  
>  _I left you here alive when I went away from the shelter,_  
>  _but now I come back, lord of the people, to find you have fallen._  
>  _So evil in my life takes over from evil forever._  
>  _The husband to whom my father and honoured mother bestowed me_  
>  _I saw before my city lying torn with the sharp bronze,_  
>  _and my three brothers, whom a single mother bore with me_  
>  _and who were close to me, all went on one day to destruction._  
>  _And yet you would not let me, when swift Achilleus had cut down_  
>  _my husband, and sacked the city of godlike Mynes, you would not_  
>  _let me sorrow, but said you would make me godlike Achilleus'_  
>  _wedded lawful wife, that you would take me back in the ships to_  
>  _Phthia, and formalise my marriage among the Myrmidons._  
>  _Therefore I weep your death without ceasing. You were kind always._
> 
> The Iliad, Book XIX


End file.
